Page 26 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
She shook her head and he felt the rejection like an arrow to the heart. “I can’t marry you, Jake,” she said, her voice hitching and tears burning her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He had expected some surprise, some trepidation, but he hadn’t expected the fear and the bitterness in her eyes. Maybe he’d gotten carried away in the moment. Maybe it was too soon. But he knew they’d end up here eventually. And he loved her. Why couldn’t she see that?
“Why not? Is love not enough for you? What do I have to do? I want a commitment from you, a home, a family. You’re it for me, Faith. I want you. Forever.”
“Jake, I don’t want to hurt you.”
His laugh was bitter. “Too late for that. Tell me what you feel. I want the truth.”
“I don’t know. We’ve only known each other a couple of months. I’m not convinced that love at first sight is real. I know it’s not for me. I need security and trust. Marriage is not something I’ve ever planned on going through again.
“Whatever hell you thought your parents’ marriage was is nothing compared to what mine was like.” Her teeth were chattering in the cold, but he didn’t think she even realized. “I won’t marry you. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Jake watched her jump out of the truck and run into the trailer. She’d been married before, and he’d had no clue. He leaned his head back and looked up at the stars. The first drops of freezing rain fell on his face and ran down his cheeks like tears.
“Perfect. Just perfect.”
He put his hand on top of the ache in his chest and rubbed. Hurt? Hurt didn’t begin to describe what he was feeling. Was love always so painful? He’d obviously miscalculated, but that just meant a change in strategy was needed. He was in love with Faith Hartwell, whether they’d known each other a few days or a few years. He was going to get to the bottom of this past marriage and then work on making her fall in love with him. He wasn’t a quitter.
Jake hopped out of the back of the truck as the rain started to fall in earnest, not as heavy hearted as he was before, but just as determined.
CHAPTERNINE
Steve Slater’s wife.
Jake stared at the newspaper clipping on his desk, the society page obituary telling only part of the story. The memories of whispered conversations at charity galas and country club luncheons filled in the gaps. Steve Slater—wealthy, connected, and from all accounts, a difficult man.
“No wonder she flinches at the word marriage,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair.
He’d been too preoccupied to pay attention when Slater died. Murphy-Madsen had taken off and he and George had been working nonstop. And then Ruth’s accident had happened around the same time and consumed his attention. He remembered the frantic call from Edward, Ruth’s sled ride down the mountain that had landed her in the hospital with a concussion and a collection of bruises.
“Stubborn woman,” Jake muttered. He wasn’t sure if he was talking about Ruth or Faith. They were surely cut from the same cloth.
He pushed away from his desk and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows that were the only feature he truly loved about this house. The sleek, ultramodern structure of glass and steel had been an investment opportunity according to the real estate agent—the kind of architectural statement meant to impress rather than comfort. For ten years, he’d lived surrounded by minimalist furniture and stark white walls, the kind of place featured in design magazines but lacking any real personality.
Unlike Faith’s Victorian with its quirky charm and storied past, his house was merely a place to sleep between projects. The only personal touches were in Ruth’s suite—a generous wing with adjoining rooms for her and Edward, carefully designed to maintain the illusion that they didn’t share the same bed when visiting. He’d never bothered to warm up the rest of the cavernous space, seeing little point in making a home out of something that never quite felt like one.
Jake stared out at the manicured lawn, perfectly maintained by a service he rarely saw. The past few days had been eerily quiet. Faith had all but disappeared since his impulsive proposal, leaving for the radio station before he arrived at the house and returning long after his crew had departed. Their only contact had been his nightly calls to her show. He must have been a glutton for punishment. Because he kept making the calls and she kept taking them. It was during those few minutes of conversation he could bear his heart and soul.
“Were you ever happy with him?” he asked the empty room. “Did you love him?”
The questions left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.
Jake’s research had painted a troubling picture—Faith Hartwell Slater portrayed in the society pages as cold and distant. The reluctant wife who became the even more reluctant widow. Until now, he’d never connected Steve Slater’s wife with Dr. Faith Hartwell, the radio psychologist renovating the Victorian. He knew his parents had known Steve, moved in some of the same circles. But it shouldn’t have surprised him. It was a small world.
“How did I miss it?” he muttered, shaking his head at his own blindness. The obituaries and articles had mentioned her returning to her maiden name after Steve’s death, but the connection had never clicked.
But the Faith he knew contradicted everything he’d read. The woman he’d come to know was warm, vibrant beneath her careful reserve. A woman who felt deeply but guarded her heart fiercely.
Maybe his grandmother could offer some insight. She stayed current on the gossip that ran rampant through high society. Perhaps she could help him understand what he was up against.
“Edward?” Jake called, making his way down the corridor toward the guest suite.
“Yes, sir.” Edward appeared from his room, dressed as impeccably as always in pressed slacks and a crisp white shirt. The man had been a fixture in Jake’s life since childhood, but Jake was beginning to understand that Edward’s loyalty extended far beyond professional duty.
“Have you seen my grandmother?”
Edward hesitated, his gaze sliding away. “I believe she’s with Ms. Hartwell this evening.”
